Just because of her...

The 2010 Bimble : Thursday

Miles :237
Start: Crowcombe, Somerset
End: Hay-on-wye

I woke early in the Somerset morning light and found an outside spot with a view of the surrounding valleys to update the blog. Whilst sitting there the sweetest little dog with the face of a Jack Russel the body of a Spaniel and the tail of a Pommerainian came up to say hello.

I later found out that this is the Pub dog, Toby, who they adopted whilst they were living in spain. I did ask her if the language barrier was a problem for him. She said no but when the farmer who owns the next door field switches his Sheep for Cows Toby gets very confused for a couple of days and barks and growls at them for being too big and not wooly.

We had breakfast in a room they also use as a tea shoppe (sic) during the week and it was so pink and frilly I felt like I was gaining weight just looking at it.

After a good breakfast we wished goodbye to the Carew Arms and Toby that sweet stray spanish hound. We headed out through the countryside to Dunster castle which inexplicably is closed only one day a week. And that day happens to be Thursday. However the town it is attched to was open and that was lovely. A stone built turn of the century market type town all whitewash and black beams.

From there we headed into Exmoor forest which was wild and rugged almost untamed and other adjectives from the romantic novelists reptore. It was very differnt to the genteel hills and swells of the south Downs but equally impressive. The road twisted around the valleys and summits as if it was trying to free itself from gravitys grasp. Em described this near rollercoaster experience as 'chicanery'.

After following our trail of breadcrumbs out of the forest we headed to Cheddar Gorge which is a road cut right through the rock itself. The bottom is a tourist trap but you can drive through the gorge for free which is waht I'd reccomend you do instead of forking over a tener to sit on a bus next to some Austrailians and be driven up there.

Although there was a shop at the bottom called Cheddar Gorge Cheese, which are three words I love in any order. Cheddar. Gorge. Cheese. There is no way in which rearranging those words doesn't please me.


As we left the valley there were a fleet of sheep on the road all going in the same direction as us al on the left hand side of the road like they were commuting to work. Have we caused some kind of brutal natural selection? Only those sheep with good lane disipline survive?

Moving on, we drove into Bath which is at the bottom of another valley with green slopes on allsides studded with indivual house looking out into the valey. They use a particular sandstone here with a rich yellow colour that makes every building seem matched.

We walked through the madness of the town proper, decided against the two hour wait to see the roman baths and instead heading up to the relative calm of the circle and the royal cresent. From their we walked onto the botonical gardens which I'd never seen before.

A great collection of plants that Em seemed to be very excited about although whilst resting on a bench we did se two baby squirrels playfighting with each other. It was like those old cartoons of Chip and Dale fighting over a nut and just as funny although involving fewer uses of Frying pans and other acme products.

From the calm of Baths gardens to Bristol in rush hour traffic was quite a culture adjustment but we did well and were able to take in the Clifton Suspension Bridge which is a stunning bridge which you can drive over or under. It just seems to appear out if the rock and span the gorge sticking two fingers up at physics as it does so

We met my Relatives for a good catch up and much needed bite to eat and drove back into Wales (woo!) for our final stop at Hay-on-Wye.

It was quite a long journey in the near dark but it was nice to see Welsh words on roadsigns again. Although I had to notice when we were driving the windy roads in Kent the corner signs would be enourmous for even a small bend;

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Whereas back in wales the same corner would merit a;

>MEH>

I'm sure theres a rational explanation but it did tickle me at the time.

We stopped at the old Black Lion Inn which was very comfortable but Hay itself surprised me. Its a really really small town. I mean really small. but it has over 20 different bookshops! It was a fun town and a good place to bring this bimble to an end.

Eight hundred and ninety four miles over six days seems like a lot but it was a great trip and a great experience. We are already discussing Bimble Two : Son of Bimble which we think will take us down the leg of Cornwall with the aim of getting Em to Her spiritual home, The Eden Project which was just that little bit too far away for this trip.

The 2010 Bimble : Wedneday

Miles :141
Start: Tangley, Hampshire
End: Crowcombe, Somerset

Its One AM. You've just been woken up by something but you can't quite work out what. There's a strange noise that, as you shrug off the tendrils of sleep, you realise IS THE MAN NEXT DOOR STILL LISTENING TO THE GODAMNED RADIO AT ONE IN THE MORNING!!!!!

I banged on the wall and he turned it down, not off and I spent the next two hours furious that in a pub we'd selected to be off the beaten track and quiet as possible we were getting noise pollution! I'm quite grumpy when I don't get enough sleep, as you can probably tell. Luckily Em only woke up to hear me banging on the wall, harrumphed in a manner that probably meant 'Oh God he's at it again.' rolled over and went back to sleep.

Anyway I eventually got back off to sleep at about three and that meant we were late getting up and Mr Radio next door had gone to work.

We had an excellent breakfast and headed now for Newbury for a quick look around. Newbury's not that new and seems to be quite a dull market town.

We headed over to a small hamlet called Kintbury where I have some relations who welcomed us with open arms and flowing coffee pots. We talked politics and they suggested we took this certain road out of the village. With a glint in his eye the husband said 'watch out for the cows'.

After waving goodbye took this road after eating our own body weight in macaroons and it turns out there's a common just outside the village where cows roam free. They are kept in this area by cattle grids but four roads run right through the centre of this pasture! It was lucky he had warned us as one cow made a suicidal dash across the road in front of us followed by the rest of the herd.

It was a toss up whether to plow on though. On the one hand a seriously damaged car could be an issue but on the other hand, free steaks for a week!

As we took the gorgeous road East we were passed by some cars and drivers that were clearly there to race on the most beautiful track ever. I can see why they'd be attracted to it, there are sweeping curves and sharp bends, rises and reveals of the valley below. However if they were only taking their own lives in their hands that would be one thing but they are risking every other road user as well.

We drove down the road and passed Stonehenge after being told not to bother stopping as the prices to walk around it were exorbitant. I can say it appears quite hengy and popular, but it's also smaller than I thought but not as small as Spinal Tap make out.

We turned south off the main road and had to follow a smelly tractor down single lane roads for about ten miles with the impatient queue building behind us. Being on a bimble it wasn't a problem for us and Em seemed to be quite enjoying its road clearing properties.

We said goodbye to the smelly tractor and stopped randomly at Shellbourne for essential supplies and found ourselves in a country town from the 60's. It was very impressive, yellow sandstone a quiet village atmosphere several pubs and a definite life to it. I would love to go back and stay for a night or two as it felt idyllic. You can tell I'm running out of positive adjectives to describe all the stuff we've seen. If this goes on much longer I'll end up calling something Avuncular. Anyways Shellborne was simply gorgeous.

From there we headed to the Cerne Abbas Giant which is the chalk man etched onto a hill which turns out is either a two thousand year old god or a mockery of Oliver Cromwell from the sixteen hundreds. Still its pretty impressive though to saw nothing of his enormous...Club.

We headed back north then and saw an array of visible light on the Dorset hills whilst on the A37 Dorchester to Yeovill Road. Now visible light is one of my favourite things its that glow that you sometime see on distant hills. Its simply beautiful, so to see this across all the range was spectacular.

Our tranquil revere was broken in Taunton at rush hour. It seems to have way over ts quota for roundabouts and as we found out later is second only to Milton Keynes itself for roundabout hell.

After our sat nav, nicked named 'Fiona' for reasons lost in the mists of time, tried to direct us up what was clearly an overgrown footpath we managed to reach the Carew Arms in Crowcombe. From the outside it looks like a ramshackle old building but the BnB rooms are modern and clean the bar is proper old fashioned with stags head and things on the walls and a skittles alley! They also serve some great beers and fantastic curries on a Wed night which is when we stopped. Bonus!

The most important thing though is that we as two strangers in the bar got into two great conversations with two separate groups of locals who were more than friendly. It really made us feel welcome and wanted which after a long day of traveling is exactly what you need in a pub. Which is where we heard about the landowners who own the pub and most of the surrounding buildings, which they paint a particular colour."If it's falling apart and painted blue it belongs to the Carews."

A few more pints of the Excellent Exmoor Ale and much putting the world to rights with people I didn't know from Adam an hour ago and it was time for bed.

New job:I can think of worse places to have lunch!

The 2010 Bimble : Tuesday

Miles :121
Start: Brighton
End: Tangley, Hampshire

I woke up early and took a walk out of our BnB towards the beach. Even though it was seriously cheap and cheerful we had a sea view. Sort of. It was down the length of a street with a car park on one side and the back of posh hotel on the other. Not exactly picturesque but a sea view nonetheless. I had a short stroll to the ruins of the west pier which was virtually destroyed by fire a couple of years back. Now its just a skeleton of rusted ironwork jutting out the ocean. I've no idea if it could be repaired but I really don't think it would be worth doing. They should either demolish it outright or declare it a seagull sanctuary (like THEY need protecting).

Back to the BnB and we parked up the car and we were away before you needed a parking permit to stay there. We drove along the sea road watching the genteel Brighton giving way to the more industrialised west. Boat yards and spoil depots replaced hotels and apartment blocks. We turned into the land and saw across a green valley something called Lacing College Chapel. This thing was immense, jutting out of the green hillside like an errant ivory tooth. Most impressive.

Having skipped the breakfast at the hotel we stopped off and had a Sunlit fruit breakfast of orange juice, bananas and grapes. I'd love to say it was organically grown but it was actually tescos as we stopped to avoid a traffic jam. Still sunlit and still fruity though.

We headed into the South Downs national park (proposed). I propose you give it to them as its beautiful and if anything needs saving its our greenspaces. The drive up the hill and along the A272 was really special a rolling dipping highway through some lovely villages.

One of which was Midhurst, which we stopped at for essential supplies where we saw a ruined castle/country house called Cowdry which was apparently destroyed by action in the civil war. As we had no fixed timetable we took a walk along the raised marsh bed towards it. The ragged walls are still there, the roof is centuries gone but the jagged front standing proud against the level marshland was pretty impressive and a great random bimble find.

We drove onto Jane Austens House at Chawley. Now I actually like Austen, we had an extract from one of her books read out at our wedding, so seeing where she wrote all of her works was great and they certainly captured the period well. HOWEVER there was a sense that they were trying to beatify her into Saint Jane of Austen. It seems that for many people she represents a certain attitude and a certain lifestyle, almost 'Austen style' and in her they put their own fears and hopes. Whereas she was a decent writer she certainly wasn't a saint.

From there we needed a cuppa and butty so we headed to Winchester. I have to say it's rather like Chester but with added Win.

A very civil place a bit like Bath but without the pretensions. We found a little tea shop off the high street that did twenty different types of tea. Em had a High tea and I had low tea. Low tea is the same thing just with a toasted cheese sandwich rather than scones with jam and cream.

From there we walked up to the gate museum and Great hall where they claim to have 'THE' round table. Em was nearly apoplectic.

"There isn't a 'THE' round table and there never was! Is the meaning of the word MYTH lost on you people? It's a table that's round and nothing else!"

However they more than made up for their grammatical error with a lovely garden off to the side with all sorts of herbal and eating plants in! It also had a bench where I could have quite happily spent a couple of hours reading a novel. Unfortunately that wasn't an option so we went on to our stop of the night.

We had a very clear plan of not booking accommodation more than 24 hours ahead and so far I have to say its worked rather well. This pub, called the cricketers arms looks like a Small country cottage and has a chalet style accommodation block behind it made out of local timber. This chalet looks a touch like a upmarket motel but the rooms are lovely and decked out (Geddit?) all on wood.

We had a couple of pints of the Bowman ales Swift One (some cricket pun I think) and a wonderful meal. Then sat by the enormous fireplace with a cheery fire and listened to the locals chat about nothing in particular.

We headed to bed and fell into a sound sleep in spite of the room next to ours listening to Radio four quite loud.

The 2010 Bimble : Monday

Miles :142
Start: Gravesend
End: Brighton

We got up with Jane and Wez and wished them well on their way to work. Its to their credit that they didn't shout obscenities at us as they headed out to their jobs.

Then after a round of showers and toast we headed out into the bright blue dawn of the A2. Driving through the Kent countryside I can't help but be amazed at how lush and verdant it is. We passed acre after acre of beautiful green fields which were highlighted by the occasional yellow of a rape seed field.

We arrived at Canterbury in the glorious sunshine and left in the pouring rain. I can't think of anything we did to make the weather angry but it rained nonetheless. In between we had seen the glorious cathedral, at which even an avowed Agnostic such as myself can't help but be impressed. Em and I had an argument/discussion about whether a painting was of Charles the First or Charles the Second. Em won out, of course, but was good enough to point out it was commissioned by Charles the second so we were both right (No we weren't really)

We stopped off to have some lunch in a cafe on a side street and then through the pedestrianised streets we were watching fudge being made in a shop window and were invited in. It seemed like the lad doing it was having tremendous fun and really enjoyed the process. It wasn't cheap but it was the best fudge I've had for a long time.

We left Canterbury on the B2068 which you can't help but notice is quite a bit Roman, in that its straight as a die in some sections with the occasional sweeping bend. Em joked that it was every Friday the Roman road builders would get smashed at lunchtime and go off tangent a bit hence the term' gone on a bender'. Not sure about that one myself....

You can help but be reminded of history around here, passing through 'Norman Bay', 'Hastings' and of course my personal favourite 'Battle'. Its as if the towns themselves are trying to tell you of the men who fought and died there in wars long passed into the history books.

As we hit the South coast proper the satellite navigation had a bit of a tizzy and ended up sending us down narrower and narrower roads until I was afraid La Todo Poderosa wasn't going to fit! It didn't seem to bother the locals who came barrelling through the gaps threading the eye of the needle with their vans. Although without that route adjustment we wouldn't have seen a Street called 'Denbigh road' deep in the East Sussex Countryside.

Windmills of both descriptions are everywhere in that area. The old beautiful and useless, and the new very useful and the allegedly ugly new ones. Personally I like them, I think in a hundred years they're be an iconic reminder of our species becoming more environmentally aware. But then again I don't have one ruining my once pristine view.

Driving through this very flat land Rye is on a hill in the middle of the marshland, It towers out of the landscape like some fantasy castle with serfs huts surrounding it. Its an absolutely beautiful spot that I hope to go back to one day.

Hop houses are also everywhere around here as most of the hops used in the UK is grown in this area. There are tales of the soporific nature of the hops making people walking among them just nod of as they stroll around. I'd love to give that a go!

We drove into Brighton past a lorry that had gone on its side. Em and I decided that the driver had been so stunned at the incredible view that he simply turned too fast and toppled over! The South downs are simply gorgeous. They don't have the rugged beauty of the Snowdonian peaks but seem almost to have been manicured over the years to create an incredible series of slopes and ranges into the sea. Almost like a giant Bonsai sculpture. I don't know what they do with the ugly hills down here. Possibly just flatten them out and use the rubble to improve the gradient on some other not quite up to par peaks.

We checked into our BnB which was a real throw back to the seventies. The last time I saw half this furniture was in an episode of Rising Damp. I have to say it was clean and it was very cheap which are two of my favourite things in a hotel room.

We picked up Craig from his place in Newhaven, about ten miles down the coast and went out for an All-You-Can-Eat Thai/Chinese/Vietnamese meal. It was more like a More-Than-You-Should-Eat Thai/Chinese/Vietnamese meal but was bloody lovely all the same.

It was good to catch up with Craig who moved down here nearly Ten years ago now, and its great to see how settled he seems to be.

We headed back to the BnB and took a walk down to and along Brighton's East Pier which was nice but a bit like an upmarket Llandudno pier!

Then back to the hotel and some much needed rest.

The 2010 Bimble : Sunday

Miles :7
Start: Gravesend
End: Gravesend


Had an excellent chill out morning with Jane and Wez with breakfast butties and episodes of How I met your Mother. Then we went to Jake and Lauras house to meet the latest addition to their family, Daisy their daughter. She's absolutely lovely and has a really good temperament even I didn't scare her too much.

I'm very afraid when people hand me their kids to hold. I haven't really had much experience with Kids, I mean, I used to be one but I don't think that counts in the grand scheme of things. I don't understand when they start crying, it make me think that its me making them uncomfortable which makes me uncomfortable which makes them more uncomfortable etc etc etc

Laura and Jake are great though, you'd think they've been doing this years. When I mentioned this to them Jake indicated to me that it already felt like it had been forever but he wouldn't change a thing!

We talked for nigh on twelve hours and had a great laugh. They always much us feel so welcome so included that its always a joy coming this far south.

After much pizza and beer we headed back to the house ready for the next day and the start of the bimble proper.

The 2010 Bimble : Saturday

Miles :246
Start: Rhyl
End: Gravesend

The night before we set out on our bimble (Dictionary definition : A long meandering journey with no fixed point of destination,) was my leaving do from the council. Probably not the most ideal preparation for a long journey. I don't imagine Scott of the Antarctic decided to nip out the night before traveling south for twelve pints and a curry. Nevertheless it was important to me to say goodbye to a placed and people I've very much enjoyed working for and with.

They very sweetly bought me two tasting glasses and a lovely bottle of my favourite type of whiskey (Anything from the Isle of Islay, this one was a Caol Ila out of interest.) So we went out for a couple of pints which was good fun. I flatter myself that they'll miss me just as much as I'll miss them but I don't think so!

I remember vividly leaving a previous job with Denbighshire and as I left the pub my assembled ex-work colleagues gave me a resounding round of applause much to the amusement of the other patrons! That was a great moment for me.

Anyways leaving the council this time I've already written about in a lot of detail so I'll move on.

We picked up a few things in town before leaving. Rhyl on a Saturday morning has a special funk of its own. Everyone seems to be hurrying about as if they have somewhere vital to be. Mainly, I think, anywhere that isn't Rhyl. Even the buskers are of a lower quality than you've come to expect in other large towns. One of them mumbles over every word as if hes embarrassed to be caught singing in public. Which is strange as he's there everyday, you'd think he'd have learnt the words by now. The other has a better voice but was singing, in all seriousness, Achy Breaky Heart.

Generally I have a positive outlook an life and I think mankind is evolving in the right direction but I only have to hear that song to lose all hope and feel nothing but pity and dispair for mankind. When there's soooooooo much good music, important music, soulful meaningful music out there to sing and you choose a shit novelty song from the early nineties, you've got to question your entire value system.

I am very much anti-death penalty but I am in favour of planned music re-education camps. Where you go in loving JLS and Cheryl Cole and re-emerge as a productive member of society appreciating Led Zepplin and Joni Mitchell.

Oh, a caveat to that earlier statement. If you don't enjoy the music of Al Green you have no soul and should be shot like a rabid dog.

So with our provisions laid in we pointed La Poderosa(My car) south and set out.

This Bimble has been a delibrate attempt on my part to relax more on holiday. We've got a dinner appointment in Brighton on Monday evening and the next thing I have to do is on the following Saturday. Normally I have a schedule and a good idea of what we have to do and where we have to go but this time I'm leaving that all up to fate. We're just going to see where we wake up meander around for the day, find a BnB with a pub nearby and stay there.

It might backfire spectacularly but if worst comes to worst we can get home from anywhere on the south coast in about eight hours. And its not lke we don't have family around here.

Its that special time of year when the rape seed has blossomed and the fields on the way down were that special yellow of the rape oil plant which makes that pasture look like it has captured raw sunlight and is now emitting it out. It's a beautiful colour giving the rolling hills a depth and texture that they don't usually possess with their ordinary crops. The contrast between the deep green of a fallow field and that raw golden sunlight is most pleasing to my horticulturally blind eye.

I think I associate that view with the start of summer proper so when I see those fields of gold (Thanks Sting) I know that summers here. Woot!

Also due to my impassioned indifference to Football/Soccer/Nancyball, call it what you will, travelling on FA Cup final day is no biggie so the roads were virtually empty which made for a very pleasant journey.

We made excellent time and were welcomed to Kent by Jane and Wez who have very kindly put us up for the weekend. The rest of the evening was spent variously watching TV, eating and talking and laughing throughout all of the above.

My leaving Do : Fabulous!!!

Running to stand still

There are certain moments in my life I wish I could freezeframe forever. The wrap party in Cardiff, my final Final in Liverpool, waking up in the golden light in Paris with her still lying in my arms .
I think what Im trying to say is those moments are fond memories that i will treasure forever but I had to move on to really appricate them. However hard it feels at that time its a necessary part of moving on.
I am sad to leave good people and a couple of good friends but I know its important that I do.
So goodbye Conwy, I'll never forget you.

Quandarium

I've got a new job and it starts next week.

I'm really excited about it as its a pemanent job doing something I enjoy.

But I'm going to have to leave the place where I'm currently at. Somewhere I'm very happy. Somewhere I have good friends and a position I like.

I know its the right thing to do, but why does it feel so wrong?

Electoral Disfunction

Stayed up until 2 watching the election coverage. Long enough to realise that the seemingly ridiculous exit polls were pretty much spot on. The Lib Dems, whom I've voted for since I was 19 were going to gain an increase in the percentage of people voting but thanks to the historical vagaries of our system actually loose seats.

The coverage was interesting, I thought Channel Four did a good job of keeping the comedy working whilst waiting for actual results. The BBC were stuck with blokes around a table and couldn't cut to 'Come dine with me' or Charlie Brooker being sneering and yet somehow likeable.

And now we have a hung parliament, which can only be broken by the Lib dems making a pact with one of two devils. I can't believe that they are thinking of collaborating with the Conservatives. A Con-Dem-Nation (Not one of mine I'm afraid) wouldn't last but Cameron might use it to oust Brown, stumble on for a few months and then call another election. My only hope is that in the mean-time he pushes through electoral reform, although it has been pointed out to me that if it does go through the Lib Dems will get a more proportional representation in the house but so will the BNP.

It depresses me that nearly nine hundred thousand people in the UK feel so disillusioned that they'd vote for Nazis. Because that's who they are. You can dress it up any way you want. Keep hiding your policies behind a flag we should all be proud of but you are still adhering to National Socialist principles.

I should respect any mans right to believe what he wishes, I even have friends that are Torys, but the BNP make me irrationally angry. I find it hard to believe that in my tiny constituency (35000 voters)there are 827 people that actually put an X next to the BNP.

They should be rounded up and shot.

And its that kind of thinking that caused this mess in the first place.

Prep work!

Day Off, or, 'Sod the Housework.'

Day Off.

Day Off: Part Two or 'Sod the housework.'

Happy stag do David!

Our days are numbered, but our friends are limitless.
Come on then motherfucker,
it'll be a cold day in hell,
when you'll take us now.

I pity the (rhubarb) fool!

Don't ever doubt my commitment to Sparklemotion!

...And next I'll teach you how to ante up...

The Hugh-gonaught in all his glory!

Moving day

Boards of canada playing in KFC.

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That's why they're Mushrooms! Thats why they're Mushrooms!

Went to my first Super League game last night. And I have to say the experience was highly varied. First of all when we got to the sell out ground at Wrexham (10,300 -ish)it was clear the stewards hadn't really thought things through. We had assigned seats but a lot of fans had unrestricted tickets and the stewards had told them they could sit anywhere. Without pointing out that they might be asked to move by people with assigned seating. Chaos inevitably ensued but it wasn't at the viciousness that one might expected.

Second the seats we took, were somehow in what I believe is termed 'The away end'. Rugby has no separation of rival fans and the selling of alcohol is encouraged. Now there are many reasons why I don't follow football but in amongst the main ones is the rivalry and intimidation that goes on. At every Rugby Union match I've been to theres been singing and chanting but I have never ever felt in the least intimidated and never, ever heard the opposition fans singing "Get into them - Fuck them up!"

The individual Leeds fans I spoke to were very friendly but there were clusters of them , clots one might say, that were at the very least thug-ish that I would cross entire counties to avoid. It was only at the end of the game as I was filling out, I craned to look at the area the Baboons had inhabited and I realised that sat three rows in front of them were three little girls in Welsh hats with their Ma and Pa. They must have heard all the swearing and abuse and blatant Xenophobia that those Idiots were saying and I think they've got a very different perspective on sport and probably men as well. As Hunter always used to say 'He who makes a beast of himself spares himself the pain of being a man.' or, translated from ponce 'If you go with the mob you don't have to think for yourself'.

They had their songs and chants one of which was "Who are ya? Who are ya? You've got no History, You've got no history!" I felt like shouting back "Of course we haven't you numptys, we've only been going a year!" However the fact I'm typing this from my front room and not a hospital bed shows that I was able to restrain myself.

Although by far my favourite chant was "That's why we're champions, That's why we're champions!" after every try. They were indeed champions last year but they were emphasising odd syllables so it came out

That's why we're Cham - p - O - nes which sounded for all the world like the french for Mushrooms! I imagine this was unintentional unless leeds have some kind of nickname I'm unaware of.

The game itself when it started was like a paired down game of Union and that's not an insult. Its a game that can be understood fairly quickly and enjoyed straight away. Union is a game that grows on you slowly and until you get the subtleties and complexities of the whole game then it is baffling and confusing.

I can understand why die-hard League fans can't understand why you'd want to play rugby like a foxtrot. "Slow slow quick quick slow" rather than an all out mad rush but for me (Ponce mode) its the difference between a glass of coke and a single malt. One is meant to be guzzled consumed straight away before the fizz goes. The other is meant to be savoured, allowed to mature.(/Ponce mode)

I think its this difference that means I will always be a union man, Although I may well go back for the occasional crusaders game. The game itself was enjoyable and there was always something happening, but I will very much be in the home end next time I go.

(The result? Well we lost by four tries in the end but for two thirds of the match we held the Mushrooms to a draw which is an achievement by anyone's standards!)

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After a cracking nights sleep, Belgian beer will do that to you, we headed out about nine for some much needed breakfast. We dropped into the first place we saw where the greek guy took one look at us and said

"Four full English?"

Now what I should have said is "Four hungry Welsh actually" but I'm not that quick.

A superb meal was forthcoming rich in the essential greases you require to replenish stocks after a night out.

We caught the tube, Caroline remebering not to put her travel pass next to a fridge magnet thus invalidating the magnetic strip this time, and headed for the Natural History museum.

We took the tour around the dinosaurs and saw a few other bits and pieces before hitting the shop.

From there its a short walk to the science museum which was much less crowded. They had some superb exhibits on but its hard to appricate the scale of both musuems. It would take weeks to glance at evrything they have on display let alone in Archive.

We wandered up the street then past Harrods and the estate agents advertising apartments for 25 million, and caught the tube to the area known as 'the city of London'.

Here was me thinking I was taking an entire holiday in the City of London. What a fool I am!

The streets were totally deserted. I can imagine with all the banks around that on a normal weekday evrything is heaving but we found essential nowhere open including the pub we'd wanted to go to for ages called 'The Old Doctor Butlers Head' which serves some great beer apparantly and its tested by people pouring some on a wooden bench and then sitting on it in leather trousers. (And people say the British aren't kinky enough!)

From there we came back to the hotel via the old mans pub on the corner which was nice. It felt like the kind of boozer you see in eastenders but don't think exsist in London anymore.

A guy walked in with a suitcase which he opned and starte selling meat to all the regulars. Now in Liverpoll we were forever chasing out Scallys selling clothes, dvds or whatever had just fallen out of the back of a van, but Meat?

I don't know about you but when we talk about sourcing our produce I don't want to have to say, "Some bloke in the Cumberland Arms'.

Em and I had a quick break for a cuppa back at the Hotel, cause we're old. The klift in the hotel had this great bored northern womans voice,

Floor 2. Brass bands and depression.

It was like having Holly from Red Dwarf in charge of the lift!

From there we tubed it to meetRob and Caroline at Piccadily Circus, a cheap Time Square. Anheaded to a pub called 'The Old Coffee Shop' where they serve the beers they brew on the premises.

I call them 'beers' but they were more just watered down toilet water. Not very good I'm afraid. So we moved on do De Hems which was a pub Al had recommended and was anopther Belgian pub. The beer was uniformly excellent and thank to a very friendly member of staff we got to try their cherry and strawberry draft beers! Yummy! Don' think I could have a whole pint of it though!

We headed to a chinese that Rob and Caroline had picked out through the sex shop streets of soho and had an excellent banquet to round off a great day in the city!
Bored northern lift.
The barman in de hems giving us cherry and strawberry beer.

Caroline moving the lazy susan as im poring the tea.

It was an early morning start for us today, well about 9.58 when we had to catch our (not so) early train down to London. The journey was swift and realtively uneventful thanks to all the work they've done on the west coast mainline service. two and a half hours to London from our little provincial backwater is superb by anyones reckoning.

We dropped the stuff off at l'hotel and headed to Westminster.

Westminster tube station is awe inspiring. they left evrything on show all the pipework and ducts all the massive slabs of concrete that are usually discretely hidden and left on full view almost showing off in its starkness. And I Love it! It reminded me of the pomidu center in Paris.

Anyway we met my friend Al there and headed to Parliment where he works as an Parlimentry outreach person. He used to be one of the team that transcribed the offical record of ever word that was said whilst Parilment was in session. If you've ever watched a debate in the house of commons you'll know what an ardous task that must have been.

So now he works with groups talking about parliment and how parilment works for them.

We went through a series of checkpoints and Em got frisked AGAIN. Every airport we've ever been to she get searched. She seems to be a frisking magnet we laugh and joke about it but occasionally I have to fight off the urge to shout 'Get your hands off my WIFE!'

From there we walked into St Stepehens Hall I think which is the only place in the Parilmentry grounds that you are allowed to take photographs. After that my camera stayed in my pocket and what a pity it was too. We walked through the opulent rooms surrounding the houses of lords all gift and ermine and plush red velvet and then through the houses of commons where I stood next to the dispatches box, right by Gordon Browns seat . It was an awesome tour and Al is very funny and well versed in the History of Parliment. It was quite an experience.

One thing that surprised me was the balance they have to strike. Theres a masive statue of Oliver Cromwell outside which is fair enough but inside its all Kings and Queens! I don't think Mr Cromwell would have been happy about that but being a Puritan I can't imagine there was much that would make him happy. And even if there was he'd probaby feel guilty about it.

After leaving Al we headed north to towards Covent Garden. We stopped briefly for a swift pint in the Duke of Wellington (Excellent Ale friendly locals) and spent some time looking at the shops in Covent Garden proper.

After that it was back to the hotel for a swift brushup and then back out for the night that nearly never was.

It must be everyones nightmare to reserve a table in your favourite resturant and for them to have no record of that reservation when you get there. Espically when you know you're from the sticks and want your city friends to get the impression that you're at least cultured in some ways!

In fairness to the staff at Belgos they found us a table fairly quickly and sat us with the minimum of fuss. I was expecting gestures and frumps and frowns but I forgot this is a Belgian resturant not French.

We met with Jane, Wez and Simon for beers and chats and had, what I belive Bertie Wooster would have described as a spiffing time.

The mussles were, as ever superb and the Beers with names such as Satan Gold, Judas etc were uniformly excellent. Except for a monstrousity of a beer called Something Something Duchess. It tasted how I imagine Fergie from Black Eyed Peas tastes. Sweaty, salty and which a air of Vinegar. Yeuch! Reading that back it is possible that the beer had gone off but I didn't want to appear stupid and ignorant AGAIN!

Having said our goodbyes with the prospect of seeing everyone in a fortnight for l'Rugby we walked back to the hotel in the rain.

Fake xmas is a go!

Jane and Wez braved the snow the ice and terrible terrible british rail sandwiches to join the Welsh side of the family for fake xmas and new year.

Fake xmas is a Taylor famliy tradition that we like to uphold. We have xmas with our new families variously in Georgia, Kent and Rhyl and then at some point we all head for St Asaph for festive cheer, turkey and a tradtional game of Mah Jong.

This year was no exception with a lovely piece of turkey, three different stuffings, leeks and all the trimmings! We played a few gamres of UNO where I got the rules mixed up and then MAh jong with plenty of beer/wine/nog.

Today is New years eve where we're meeting all our friends and family for more drinks. I think JAnuary should be delcared as 'detox month!'

vickys pint.

Xmas time... Mistletoe and something or other.

Yay!

Broken up for xmas which is a joy as there now a whole 4 days between me and the next time I have to wear a tie! Woo!

In other news Rage against the Machine are the xmas number one single instead of Xfactors what's face singing 'The Zzzzzzzzz.....' Thank God. When did Karaoke become the cultural lodestone that we're all meant to worship?

Sorry, not making much sense at the moment. the brain hasn't been clear for days and I've got a temper shorter than an essex girls christmas skirt at the moment. Not the best way to be writing really . If I tried writing anything at the moment it would just end up being a whole page with the single word

KNOBJOCKEY!

Repeated all the way down it.

I have done a butt load of research for writing and structure but without actually getting much written. It would be worth getting something on the page but it would need totally tearing down and starting again once I felt better.

Had the works do last week which was ace seeing everyone out of the office and meeting up with some friends that have moved on to bigger and better things.

Xmas day tomorrow! Woot! Its my favourite time to see the family and friends. And nog of course! Lets not forget the Nog!

Cheers!

Llandudno in the morning.

'Ghost Em' in cinemas this Jan.

what was that about red sky in the morning?

Grabbing onto memories

A long time ago, what seems like many lifetimes ago there was a club in Rhyl. It was the only place that didn't play the usual chart tunes and bland antiseptic dance music. The carpets were sticky and the beer was quite frankly horrible but the people and the music made it fabulous. It was friendly in a town where friendly didn't count for anything.

The legends around the doorman were that he'd been one of Ali's sparring partners when he come over to the UK for one fight or another. He was certainly old enough but he was built solid and had a shock of white hair, mustaches and a pipe firmly and continuously clamped between his teeth. He very rarely said anything but it was always worth listening when he did. It always amused me this dichotomy of this gentleman in full black tie and dinner jacket surround by scruffy grunge kids moping around the dance floor.

What The Bistro, for that was its name, represented to me was something more than a club, it was the environment where I thought I fitted. Everyone in there was a misfit of one sort or another so I felt right at home. I'd been to dance clubs before but I rapidly found I had nothing in common with most of the people in there, who were there to get drunk, get dancing and get laid or any combination of those three. I've always been a bit strange but that didn't sound like a good time to me and if I was going to have to listen to obscenely loud music I felt it should at least be something I'd like to hear at home.

The bistro played rock grunge, indie, alternative basically anything that you wouldn't hear at a regular club, I remember they had to ban 'smell like teen spirit' because the moshing ** was making the chandelier below swing precariously.

(** moshing:- jumping up and down and into each other with careless abandon trying not to fall over. Surprisingly fun. murder on the ankles though!)

In a way every indie club I went to after that was a echo of The Bistro be it London, Liverpool or Atlanta, that smell of sticky carpets and indie kids always gave me a certain thrill.

And it closed sometime after I left for parts unknown and there was no where for any of us to be anymore.

Theres a reunion planned and I'm in two mind whether to go or not. One part of me wants to drink foul lager and bounce around like a fool for an evening like I used to. The other half of me wants to let the memories stay as they are. We'll have to see when the night comes if I'm still a teenager at heart or pessimistic old sod.

Boston Park.

There's a park in the middle of Harvard University which is surrounded on all sides by coffee shops and book sellers. The park itself has benches and a layer of cigarette butts so deep in places walking through the fag ends and discarded filters is like wading through tar soaked snow. I don't think they've been collected since the time John Adams was there. I swear I saw a little clay pipe at the bottom of one pile.

We stopped for a coffee and a sit down having walked through most of upper Boston on our way here.

In the park under a tree was a guy who couldn't have been more than twenty, on his own, singing and playing guitar. Normally buskers will play something instantly recognisable and catchy to get peoples attention. I think that's why they're so reviled, they only play what they think you'd like to hear so they play the most inoffensive dreck and by not offending anyone they usually alienate everyone.

I didn't identify this tune at first but it wasn't unpleasant, so I sat, sipping my coffee, listening to his strumming. It was only after I got past his strong Bostonian accent that I realised what he was singing this beautiful song that he had written about how painful his breakup with a particular girl was. He was singing a personal song about how he himself felt. I could see him pause occasionally and take a small stub of pencil and mark up a legal pad he had next to him.

I don't think it would have mattered if there had been ten people in that park or a thousand. He wasn't there to entertain others. He would still have been singing that song on his own in an attic if he had to. Because he HAD to sing it. Because it was the only way he could process the emotions he was dealing with. And that what I love about good art. Good artists will do what they do not for the pleasure of others or for praise, adoration and cash but because if they had no fans, no crowds, no public, they'd still be doing it anyway.

Somehow I don't think Damien Hirst or Tracy Emin would still be artists if they'd had no success. They'd be turning out copies of quaint Landscapes so fast it would make your head spin.

Real art is passion. Real art is a gnawing desperate need to vent these feelings by singing, writing, painting, or whatever before those very emotions burn you out from the inside.

andy is happy

my wife is very talented

I like driving in my car...

...except when I can't.

After a moderately hard day at work the only thing I wanted to do was sink into the couch and lose myself in the rather excellent Ravenor collection of novels by Dan Abnett. (Available at all good book shops and also some rather dubious ones.) Or maybe watch some of the superb True Blood, Generation Kill or Dollhouse TV shows which are finally airing on terrestrial channels. But no, the shopping had to be done and I was just the man to do it. Or rather I was the only man that was going to do it. I reckoned to get to the shops, buy the essentials, get back, put them away and be on the couch with a book and something single and malty would take about half an hour. Not a large amount of time from my evening off.

So upon entering my car which has sat in the car park without complaint since Saturday, I tried starting it only to hear the noise that all car owners dread. That crunchy, whiny sound non-starting engine sounds that translates from car-speak to English as "This is going to be expensive". So after a couple more attempts (I'm nothing if not persistent) I did what every bloke with no mechanical expertise at all does. Called my breakdown service.

Unfortunately I'd forgot that as a cost-saving measure I'd neglected to tick the box that says HOME START. Ah. The lady was most apologetic and explained that I'd need to be further than a quarter mile away from my house in order to get the breakdown service that I was paying for. For them to come out as things stood would cost a squillion quid before they could even look at the problem. I politely declined the offer and instead decided to jump start the car from our second motor hoping to at least have enough power to get it to the Motor shop where I presumed they would have a battery tester and a new battery to sell me. It was then I discovered EXACTLY what they mean by 'Power' Steering. With no power to the car and it being about the same size and weight as your average Sherman tank, manoeuvring my car was no mean feat. I was certainly glad I didn't have to push it much further than 10 meters or so to the waiting maw of the donor car.

One quick jump later and we were away to our local brand of our national chain of car type stores (Not named here for possible legal implications). I approached the Helpdesk and to my relief it was manned by a gentleman in the prime of his middle ages rather than a scrawny YTS geek who's all neck and no nouse. This gentleman oozed calm experience from every pore. I explained the situation and he nodded sagely.

"It certainly sounds like the battery is failing we'll just test it first. Albert?"

Albert appeared from behind the desk the epitome of adolescent ineptitude with the spots and greasy smell to match. My heart sank as he lollopped his way over to my waiting car and after prodding ineffectually under the bonnet proclaimed that "The machine says you'll need a new battery."

I selected my battery and he started the installation procedure getting as far as removing the old battery and connecting the negative terminal before saying "Urm..."

"Urm...?" I said, the model of politeness.

"Urm.. I've never seen this type of connection before."

He was right, on carefully checking the old battery it appeared a specialised widget has been attached to the positive terminal which the shop did not stock. He struggled with the widget on the old battery for a minute or two before pronouncing it 'hopeless' and it was decided to refit the old battery, jump start the car again and drive it to my local garage for them to ponder over it in the morning.

It was at this point that Albert broke the negative terminal.

He was tightening the clamp and obviously went one twist too far. The whole thing broke away in his hands leaving me with a non-functional non-fitting battery and a functional non-fitting one.

Having dismissed Albert I redialled my breakdown service trying to keep the note of irony out of my voice as I explained I was now further than a quarter mile away from my house and so would like someone to come and look at the car.

It was an hour later that the Breakdown service arrived and as he emerged from his van I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Breakdown man had a beard you could trust. This was a beard that explained in calming dulcet tones that it had seen it all before, nothing could ever ruffle, surprise or vex this man or his beard. In a flash he had the widget removed from the broken battery and attached to the shiny new one and my car was running as fine as ever before.

A nod a wink and he was away to his next job leaving only a working car and a credit card receipt as proof he had ever been there.

So much for a night off, hunh?

Nick Griffin Haiku

Nick Griffin smiles like Eagle,
But has black heart of snake.
Much like mythological namesake

Why would I want to live anywhere else?

Geocaching with friends.

chocolate heaven.

'za?

thats how WE roll

awwww

the 'parry' half

Goodbyes and Hellos

The weekend before last (29th August) WE headed down to the beautiful town of Hungerford for my Uncle Wilfs funeral.

When I was growing up he'd already retired and he was a regular visitor to see his sister (my Gran) and the assorted great nieces and nephews they'd accumulated up here in wales.

I remember his relaxed attitude and friendliness and the video camera that he'd permanently have attached to his hand. I can't actually think of him without the enormous black machine resting on his shoulder. This was of course before mini DV cams and palmcorders this thing was about the size of a moderately well equipped ford fiesta. But, I have to say, we have a record of what we were all like at that point in our lives. Although I could have done without having to recite "Cecil is a caterpillar" every time the family now get together.

However we headed down on the Friday night and spent the weekend with Wilfreds daughter Judy and her husband Chris who are two of the most lovely welcoming friendly people I think I've ever met. The funeral itself was a full church service but the wake was great. Everyone talking and laughing, remembering Wilf and then meeting the next generation, my nephews and nieces. Or nephews once removed or something like that.

The picture about two or three entries below titled "You'll never see what I believe till its sunny in England" is of the fields at the back of Chris and Judys house which leads down the picturesque canal above which leads to the beautiful village centre. It really is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been and ALL the people I met on the walk looked me straight in the eye and said 'Good Morning' instead of the studied obliviousness that I'm used to in Rhyl. It was an eye opening change.

beating the bounds 2009